Take Two Companions and Call Back In The Morning
by Mardy Lass
Summary: After TV series 3 so MILD spoilers. Ten gets himself into trouble and needs Martha's expertise. But is that a new Companion she sees before her? Rated K plus for language.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

_Just for fun! Couldn't resist -- don't know why I haven't done this before...!_

* * *

**ONE**

He staggered and shivered, clutching at his burning chest. He felt the brick wall against his shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth clenched tightly against the pain.

Shivers ran down his spine. Tiny shocking needles jabbed at every patch of skin. He could feel the blood pounding through his temples, the surges of nausea and dizziness.

His fingers brushed the round button above the names. He grasped the side panel desperately, feeling himself lurch and slide blindly.

"Hello?" came a voice from the small residents' speaker by the buttons.

He opened his mouth but couldn't summon the strength or control to reply. He slipped against the wall, inadvertently dashing his head against the cold bricks. But it couldn't obscure the pain wracking his torso, pushing and pulling at him to double-over, to give in, to fall quietly to the pavement and die in peace.

He wrenched his eyes open and spotted three buttons dancing in his vision. His hand flew out and slapped at them all. Two melted away as the apparitions they were. His fingertips caught at the one on the left. He leaned against it, using it to keep him upright.

"Yes! I _can_ hear you!" came the annoyed shout. "Whoever you are, get your hand off that button or I'll come down there and snap it off!"

He relaxed but left his hand on the button.

"Right! Think you're funny, do you?" There was a long pause. "I'm coming, and you'd better be gone before I open that door and cave your head in with a bat!"

He leaned.

He counted the seconds, feeling the nausea and pain flush over him in waves. He leaned back, his hand losing contact with the button for the first time. His head bumped back against the wall and he staggered, clutching at his chest and wheezing impatiently.

He heard a noise like dragging metal. It didn't matter. The waves of nausea were winning and he couldn't keep them back any longer.

His mouth ran dry, then flooded suddenly with fresh water. He just had time to register the sound of a door opening before he spun to his left. Two hard, round things brushed his palms and he grabbed onto them desperately, the only stable things in his universe.

The entire contents of his stomach were regurgitated in short order, thrown out at high speed and to the accompaniment of loud, unpleasant noises.

"Bloody hell mate!" Martha Jones said from behind him. "What's happened to you!"

The Doctor opened his eyes weakly, not even bothering to attempt to stand up straight. He realised his hands had grabbed his knees, and he was bent over at right angles. He was happy to stay that way until he simply passed out.

Which he did.

Without even turning round.

-------------------------------------------------

Martha sat on the small poof, pulling the heavy blanket up over the insensate Time Lord, currently sprawled out on his back on her sofa.

"Where did he come from this time?" her mother asked quietly from behind her, arranging his blue suit jacket on the hangar behind her door slowly.

"I've no idea," she said quietly. "He didn't call, didn't leave a message, nothing. I had no idea he was coming."

Francine walked over and sat down next to her daughter, looking over the pale alien. "He looks awful. What do you think's wrong with him?"

Martha blew out a long breath, shaking her head slowly. She got up and went to her work bag on the desk, opening it and taking out a borrowed stethoscope. She walked back and slipped it on, pulling the blanket down and resting it on his shirt. She waited, her mother watching her, then moved it to the other side. She bit her lip and moved it around slightly.

"What?" Francine asked worriedly. "What are you looking for?"

"The other heart," she said grimly. "Can't find it. I think… it's stopped," she whispered. She pulled the stethoscope away and looked at the pale face, the pained expression. She looked at her mother helplessly.

"You mean… he should have two working? All the time?" she asked slowly. Martha nodded. "So… What could it be?"

"I don't know, Mum. If he were human, I could think of something. I could take him to a hospital. But he's not. So he's stuck with us."

"That's why he came back here," she said wisely. "To be stuck with you. He believes you can help him." She sighed. "Typical. He only turns up when he needs something, I've noticed."

"Mum!" she protested.

"Oh don't worry," Francine said cynically, "all men do it. They're all the same."

"Look Mum, he –"

He started to cough suddenly and Martha jumped up, grabbing the bucket-shaped bin and rushing back over with it. She was just in time to grab his far shoulder and wrench him over toward the bin, as he brought up an impossible amount of bright blue liquid.

Francine simply watched with calm distaste. She took the bin from her daughter as she pulled him back out straight on his back. She realised his eyes were open.

"I don't even _eat_ carrots," he said weakly, making her smile slightly.

"Hey you," she said warmly, and he began to smile. But then he shivered and hissed suddenly, in pain. "What?" she asked quickly. "What's making you sick? Tell me!"

He gasped and grabbed out blindly, catching the back of the sofa and her knee. He clutched at them painfully, his teeth firmly jammed together and his eyes squeezing shut. Francine moved over quickly, wringing her hands.

Martha watched him relax suddenly, sagging back into the bed. She took his hand off her knee slowly, holding it firmly.

"He looks really bad," Francine said quietly. "He needs proper medical attention."

"Tea," he rasped suddenly, and Martha smiled as at a small child.

"No, mate. We're talking about proper medical –"

"Theanine – blood-brain barrier," he gasped, his eyes closed.

"Oh! Right!" she realised.

"I don't under-" Francine began.

"Mum, do us a favour, get the kettle on," she said quickly, but nevertheless gently.

"Well, if you think it's going to hel-"

"I do," she said hurriedly. Francine looked at her, nodded, and left her to look after the coughing, shivering Time Lord.

Martha waited till the door was shut behind her.

"Mate," she said quickly.

"Martha," he said, sounding more relaxed, but his eyes were still closed. "Theobromine, theanine and…" He drew in a ragged breath. "And lots of polyphenolic antioxidant catechins."

"And that's it? That's all you need?" she asked quickly.

"Heat."

"Right," she said quickly. "And that's it?"

"Trouser pocket," he whispered weakly.

She looked at him. Just looked.

Then she looked down him, finding his right trouser pocket in his blue pinstripe trousers.

"You know, always liked your brown suit better," she said to herself, pushing her hand in. Her fingers connected with something hard and she grasped it, pulling it out. "I'm not even going to ask how this fitted in there," she said with a smile, looking at the silver box in her hand.

It was a five-inch cube with tiny, blinking lights on it.

"Blue?" he asked, pain evident in his whisper.

"There are blue lights on, yeah," she confirmed, and he put his hand up, taking it off her clumsily. He held it firmly, letting it and his hand fall to his stomach, exhausted.

"Right then. You rest and play with your… thing, and I'll get fresh tea," she said, getting up. He let go of the box quickly. His hand clutched at her and she paused, looking at him.

"Martha," he said quietly, opening his eyes. She waited. "Don't let them… stop at the… at the same time," he whispered weakly. She stared at him, her mind racing.

"What?" she asked desperately. "Don't let what stop?"

He opened his mouth but couldn't answer. He pulled her hand down in his, letting it lie on his chest.

"Your hearts!" she realised. "Are they going to try to stop at the same time?"

"Just once," he managed, and she could have sworn she saw the trace of a smile in there. She smiled, squeezing his hand.

"Right then," she said confidently. She put her free hand to his forehead, sweeping his wild fringe away from his eyes and letting her hand rest on his forehead gently, testing the heat.

"Box," he whispered. She picked it up, looking at it.

"What do I do with it?" she asked.

He took a deep breath, and it looked as though he were waiting for an opportune moment to speak.

"Lights. If they go out…" He deflated and gasped in air, albeit in a controlled manner.

"I get it. If they go out, I'm waking you," she said seriously. "Look, relax: I'm on the case," she said kindly, and he smiled slightly but it looked pained. "You have a sleep, shut down, hibernate, do whatever you Time Lords do. Me and Mum will look after you."

"All I…" He paused to suck in a breath slowly, relaxing into the bed comfortably. "…Ever wanted."

She sat and watched him drift into a fitful sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

Martha looked up from her book, looking at the silver box and watching the lights blink away in blue.

She straightened slowly in cautious trepidation, noticing the four blinking lights had gone down to three. She bit her lip, looking over at the Time Lord, watching him breathe in and out silently. She watched him for a few minutes, then looked over at the box again. She thought about it for a long moment, then went back to her book.

She reached the end of the page and sighed, stretching her back out before putting her finger up on the corner to pull it over to the next page. She happened to flick her gaze up to him automatically as she did so.

His chest wasn't moving.

She dropped the book over the side of her chair immediately. She jumped up and over to the sofa-bed, ripping the duvet back and pressing her ear to his hearts.

"Don't you dare!" she hissed, sitting up and putting her palms out flat on the Gallifreyan's shirt. She took a deep breath and pushed firmly at each heart, stopping as he coughed and spluttered.

She reached for the bucket and turned to him, keeping most of herself out of the way as the same vile, blue liquid welled up out of him and splashed into the bucket.

"Alright, alright," she soothed, hearing him groan in fatigue and plain awkwardness. She rubbed his back firmly, pausing her hand to feel for both hearts going.

He simply gasped in air and put his hand out blindly. She set down the bucket and grabbed his fingers, slapping a damp cloth into them.

He wiped his mouth and fell back on the bed, exhausted.

"Am I dead yet?" he croaked.

"Not quite," she smiled bravely. "Look, can you tell me what's going on?"

"Drowning," he managed. She put her hand to his eye, opening the lid wide and leaning over him to look in.

"You mean from salt water in the lungs?" she asked. "Or something similar?"

"Similar," he croaked. "You a doctor yet?"

"Next month," she said, letting go of his eye and instead pressing her hand to his forehead. "Look, this tea thing isn't working."

"It is. More time," he managed, then coughed again. She leaned over for the bucket but he gasped in air and relaxed flat.

"If you say so," she said dubiously.

The bedroom door opened behind her and Francine walked in, carrying a tall, hot cup of tea.

"Here he is," she said gently, favouring him with a smile. "And I was starting to think you were going to be lazy for the rest of the month."

"Intention," he managed, then coughed again.

Francine shot Martha a look as he twisted to see the silver box. He nodded to himself and settled back flat again, looking uncomfortable.

Martha got up slowly and moved to walk away but he put a hand up and grabbed the side of her trousers.

"No!" he said, suddenly forcefully.

"Mate, I'll be –"

"No," he said again, more quietly, but she could feel his grip weakening, could see his eyes drooping. She turned back and removed his hand, holding it in hers warmly. She waited, and he slipped slowly into unconsciousness.

"Right. _Now_, while he's not looking," Francine whispered hurriedly.

Martha looked at her, aghast.

"He's been sleeping in those clothes for two days, Martha!" she hissed. "It's not good for him!"

"Alright," she said gingerly, getting to her feet. "But don't you even think about Dad's pyjamas. Unless you boil-wash them first to shrink them," she added with a small smile.

She looked at her mother, and for the first time in a long time, they giggled together.

-------------------------------------------------

The Doctor opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. He felt the familiar crush of pain in his chest, the leaden feeling to his limbs.

He struggled to sit up, blinking around and finding himself alone. He rubbed his eyes, looking around and realising he was in Martha's bedroom.

He immediately looked around wildly, then relaxed as he spotted the silver box. He reached out with a grunt of pain, snatching it up and pressing small switches on the side. The blue lights dimmed, then the two lighted ones pulsed and flickered.

He breathed a sigh of relief and put it down slowly, looking round the room again. His gaze caught sight of some rather familiar blue trousers, draped over a coat-hanger hanging on her wardrobe doorknob.

He swung his feet over the edge of the bed, getting them underneath him and hauling himself up. He staggered up and toward the trousers on the wardrobe.

He stopped suddenly as he had an alarming thought. His hands went to his ribs, then his backside, then the sides of his thighs cautiously.

At that moment the bedroom door opened and in walked Francine, hot tea in hand. He turned unsteadily to look at her as she walked past him, unfazed, and put it on the side table by the bed. Then she turned and put her hands on her hips.

"Is there a reason you're out of bed?" she asked cautiously.

"Screwdriver," he managed, wondering which of her four heads was real. She huffed.

"Why?"

"Need it," he croaked.

She put her hand on his arm and spun him round gently, aiming him back to the bed. She pushed him to sit, then watched him struggle onto the bed. She tutted and sat on Martha's chair next to him, bending over and putting her hands under his knees, helping him lift his feet back under the sheets.

"You do _not_ need it right now, Doctor. You need to rest and stop thinking about your gadgets," she said, folding the duvet over him securely.

"Martha?"

"She's sleeping herself," she said, turning and chucking a thumb at the sleeping young woman on the chair by the computer, tucked up in a spare duvet. "She's nearly out of her head, worrying about what's wrong with you. Just because you've stopped heaving into buckets every hour doesn't mean you can simply get up and walk about," she said sternly. "Now sleep."

"Need my screwdriver," he grumped, turning on his side so that his back was to her.

She smiled to herself, got up and went to his jacket on the inside of the door. She searched through the inside pockets, found the instrument, and brought it back. She leaned over him and tapped it against his shoulder.

"Here. Later we'll ask why," she said knowingly.

He reached a hand up and took it slowly, letting his hand fall back to the pillow.

"Later I'll ask why I'm wearing someone else's boxers and t-shirt," he managed, muffled by the pillow.

Francine smiled to herself and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her quietly.

He rolled slowly onto his back, lifted himself up on his elbows, and found the box. He fell weakly onto his back, turning over and reaching for the box. He clutched it to him, watching the blue lights.

"Hang on, mate," he managed, ceasing the struggle to hold onto the world the right way up.

His eyes rolled up and he gave in to the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

Martha woke and lifted a hand, rubbing her eye. She groaned at her stiff neck and looked around, looking over at her sofa bed.

It was empty.

She looked around quickly, searching for the silver box.

Gone.

She looked at her wardrobe, looking for the blue suit.

It was still there, hanging from the doorknob.

She wiped her face, confused, then pushed off the duvet and emerged in her yellow strappy top and pyjama trousers. She found her slippers slowly and went to the door, opening it and walking out onto the landing.

She looked around, then froze as she heard voices.

"Doctor?" she called urgently, racing down the stairs and bursting into the kitchen. She stood, stunned, at the tableau that greeted her.

"I'll buy you a new one!" the Time Lord was protesting, but Francine was standing, arms akimbo, between him and the kitchen counter full of appliances.

"You will not! If you think I'm letting you loose on any of my –"

"One with a proper browning setting!" the Doctor cried indignantly.

"No!" she said, exasperated.

"Mum? Doctor?" she called, baffled.

The two of them turned to look at her.

Martha's first thought went something along the lines of: _At last!_

Her second thought went something like: _Why does Mum have to be here?_

Her mother was dressed in a nightie and a large, rather warm-looking dressing gown, her feet jammed into slippers, her hands on her hips.

However, the taller Gallifreyan seemed oblivious to the fact that all he was wearing was a 1986 Queen '_Magic Tour_' T-shirt and a pair of burgundy Calvin Klein button-up boxers that _just about_ made it difficult for Martha to confirm all of her suspicions, anatomy-wise.

"What is going on here?" she asked politely, making sure her eyes stayed connected with his. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yep! All back to normal!" he said cheerfully. "Thanks for taking me in – I felt a bit rude, just turning up like that, but you _are_ supposed to be a doctor after all, I thought –"

"So what's going on?" she asked, walking in and going straight to the kettle. His gaze followed her.

"I need a power router, but your mother –"

"He is not having my microwave!" Francine interrupted hotly.

"I'm only using the –"

"No! No no no no no!" she cried angrily. "Just because your little box is on the blink doesn't mean –"

"Mrs Jones, this little box is fulfilling a very important-"

"Stop!" Martha cried, hands up desperately.

Both of them stopped and turned to look at her.

"Doctor, what's the box for?"

"It's – um – tracing a power source," he said uncomfortably.

"What power source?" she asked.

He opened his mouth but didn't answer. Instead he took a quiet step back, then rubbed a hand through his unruly mop that introduced a whole new dimension to the phrase 'bed-hair'.

"Doctor?" she asked, casting a sidelong look at her mother. She simply lifted her chin, resolute.

"No, it's fine… I'll er… I should get back to the TARDIS," he mumbled, letting his hand drop. "I _have_ kind of imposed on your family enough." He turned and disappeared from the kitchen quietly.

Martha looked accusingly at her mother.

"Would it really have made a difference?" she asked. "Giving him a microwave?"

Francine sniffed. "Just cos he's an alien doesn't mean he can waltz in here and start cannibalising my kitchen appliances," she grumped.

Martha shook her head. "You know Mum," she said to herself, "sometimes I worry about you."

-------------------------------------------------

Martha walked up the stairs and knocked on her door politely.

"Doctor?" she called. "Are you dressed?"

"Yep," came the muffled reply.

She opened the door and found him stood in the middle of the room, still in just the t-shirt and boxers, his screwdriver in his mouth sideways and both hands on the small silver box.

"Oh!" she yelped, stopping. "You said you were dressed!"

"Ai yam," he mumbled past the screwdriver in his mouth. "Ay goppa asf, arr yu ver keen fa oh seet or muffer?"

"What?" she asked clearly. "I don't speak '_Mouthful_'."

He took the screwdriver from his mouth and looked at her.

"I said I've got to ask, are you the Queen fan or is it your mother?" he repeated, and she let herself smile slightly.

"Leo, actually. Look, what's going on and how can I help?" she asked, walking in properly and shutting the door behind her.

"I just need to extend the life of this battery," he said, pressing the buttons on the side and finding just one light coming on. He tutted. "If I can't get the bits I need out of the microwave, I'll have to replace the entire battery source."

"Well what kind of battery do you need?" she asked. "Not to sound stupid, but I assume a couple of double A Duracells won't work."

"Something lithium polymer based," he said, dropping the box to her sofa bed and looking around, resting his hands low on his hips.

"In English?"

"Something new, like… like an mp3 player, or a PSP or something… Oh! An iPod! Do you have an iPod?" he said quickly, his eyes searching her desk.

"I've got a Nano somewhere," she said, walking over and sorting through the mess of exam schedules and revision notes. "Here," she said.

"Perfect! Lucky it's not a new video one," he said brightly, walking over and taking the blue iPod from her.

"Why's that?" she asked, watching him turn it round in his hands, inspecting it.

"New ones have lithium-ion batteries," he said dismissively. "I don't want to risk an organic solvent near my tracking system."

She just blinked. "Whatever. What happens when you've cannibalised my music machine to make your ugly box last longer?" she asked with a wry smile.

"I track down the power source," he said, preoccupied, turning and walking to her sofa bed, picking up his screwdriver and applying it to the side of the iPod in his fingers.

"And then?"

"And then stop nasty things from happening to a friend."

"Oh," she said, folding her arms and watching him from behind as he tinkered and struggled with the iPod Nano, and then the silver box. "This friend… Is she… Is she a new travelling companion?" she asked lightly.

"No, she is not."

"Oh," she said, oddly a little pleased. "An old flame?"

"Absolutely not."

"Ah. Well then. Are you going to run off and do this alone? Or let me help you?" she asked. He turned, the now connected iPod and silver box held carefully.

"You've already helped me," he pointed out. "And you can help me again by holding this while I get dressed."

She put her hands out as if for the items in his, then paused and instead caught his wrist, squeezing it.

"You missed," he said, amused.

She looked up at him.

"That's not good," she said darkly. His smile faded abruptly.

"I'll be alright."

"Hardly!" she cried indignantly. "One heart's sleeping like it went out on a bender last night, the other's running a one-minute mile!"

"It's just a side-effect," he said calmly, pulling at his wrist gently. But she refused to let go.

"Yeah well, you're not leaving here without me to make sure you don't keel over the moment your stockpiled tannin runs out on you," she snapped.

"Yes madam," he said with a knowing grin, and she tutted at him.

"You conniving swine," she grinned sweetly, shaking her head at him. "You get dressed out here. I'm having the bathroom." She let go of him and collected up bits of clothing, walking into the bathroom and closing the door.

"You know," he called from the room, as she sorted through her clothes, "I really didn't want to put you out."

"You weren't putting me out, idiot," she called back, pulling off her pyjamas.

"No? I don't think your mum was too pleased when I arrived."

"You noticed? Actually, she was really worried about you. We both were," she called, adjusting underwear.

"About me? You should know better," came the reply.

"Yeah well. Your hearts stopped about three times. Mine nearly did too, thinking you were going to die in my bed."

"Sorry."

"I was more worried about explaining a dead alien than anything else," she called cheekily, pulling on her jeans roughly.

"Thanks."

"That's alright, anytime mate," she grinned. "Are you dressed?"

"Kinda."

She bit her lip, then pulled on her top, turning to the sink and mirror. It took her a good few minutes to go through her face-care routine and then she turned back to the door.

"Dressed?" she called gingerly.

"I don't see what difference it makes, seeing as _someone_ managed to strip me and re-dress me," he replied tartly.

"Because it's one thing to help an unconscious patient, but it's another thing finding you walking around my bedroom semi-naked," she called through the door.

"Oh. Is this that 'tongues will wag' thing?" he asked, uncertain.

She opened her mouth but stopped.

_That was ages ago! Shakespeare, single beds… Does he remember _everything_ everyone says?_

"Yes," she called clearly.

"Oh I _see_," he replied suddenly, as if a mystery of the universe had suddenly been solved.

"Good," she said, opening the door. She looked at him. Just looked. "Mate," she said patiently, finding him sat cross-legged on her bed, screwdrivering and tinkering with the box, still connected to the iPod.

And him still in his undies.

"This is not good," he said suddenly.

"You're telling me," she sighed. "You're supposed to be –"

"The signal's moving. They can't move it! I only had a fix on where it _was_! And with the battery life on this thing I'm not going to be able to track–"

"Then hurry up and get dressed! We'll get to the TARDIS and follow it!" she cried, exasperated. "Honestly, you really are not firing on all cylinders today, are you?"

He dropped the box and propelled himself off the sofa, hurrying over and snatching up his trousers.


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

"Blimey, I've missed this place," she said with a smile as he opened the TARDIS door for her.

"I think it's fair to say she's missed you, too," he said, following her inside.

She stopped and looked around, hearing the familiar noises and smelling the strange, faint wisp of alien metal.

He walked past her, carrying the box and new iPod attachment to the centre console, sitting it on top and busying himself with connecting it somehow.

"So… What have you been up to?" she asked, walking along the grating, sliding her hand over the railing by the centre console, making an effort not to watch him.

He reached over and pulled a lever, then squeezed two handles together. The TARDIS rumbled and the Time Rotor started to move.

"Oh, I've missed that sound," she grinned. "So come on, spill," she said. "What've you been doing?"

"Oh, not much," he said cheerfully. "Been a while since I've been on Earth, though."

"Really?" she asked. "Why's that?"

"Well, er, just found stuff going on elsewhere, I suppose," he shrugged, not looking at her.

_Really? Or more like you didn't want to come back here,_ she thought. She bit her lip, then folded her arms.

"And you've just been knocking around by yourself?" she asked. "Haven't bumped into anyone you know, or picked up any more waifs or strays?" she teased.

"Well, there was one," he said carefully, standing back from the console to pull levers and push a small ball around carefully.

"And?"

"And… I… Well, I kinda got us into trouble."

"No surprise there then," she smiled. "Is that was this power source is all about? And how come you nearly drowned in open air?" she asked suddenly. "You were chucking up this bright blue stuff and everything."

"Oh, that," he said gingerly, then put his hands in his pockets, looking at her. "Well… You're a doctor, you know all about tablets and enteric coatings."

"Yeah," she said, slightly confused.

"Well they're made for humans," he said slowly.

"You had an aspirin and nearly died," she said flatly.

"No. I _licked_ an aspirin and nearly died," he said. "Well, it wasn't an aspirin, as such, but it had the same –"

"Woah woah woah," she said, putting her hands up. "Are you telling me enteric coating, designed to protect stomach linings and keep tablets from bleeding ingredients until they hit the right spot, is actually _harmful_ to you?"

"Yes. As I said, they're made for _humans_," he said indignantly. "Anyway," he interrupted himself brightly, "Course plotted, TARDIS moving, us chatting. Sorted." He clapped his hands together suddenly, nodding and looking a shade more relaxed. She walked over to the high chairs, jumping on.

"How long has it been?" she asked knowingly.

"Sorry?" he asked, that pretty-much patented aloof expression on his face.

"Since you had someone in here with you?"

"Not that long," he said cheerfully, his hands in his pockets again, walking back round the opposite side of the console. "Maybe… I don't know, a couple of years? Then… and then someone got in my way," he said, smiling to himself.

"A couple of _years_? Of you in here, all by yourself?" she prompted, then snorted. He looked up at her.

"What?"

"I'm not surprised you got into trouble."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, but he was grinning.

"Without me to keep you out of it?" she pointed out. "Sounds like this new friend of yours is only making things worse."

"Not as… _reserved_ as you, have to admit," he said awkwardly, scratching an ear, and she smiled.

"So come on then, tell me all about her."

He looked at her. "Ah… Look, we've got…" He paused, leaning over the console and reading something, "less than an hour. Before we land, maybe I should…"

"What? Tell me what? Is she even human?" she asked, oddly eagerly.

"Well…" He hesitated, thinking, then swung round and looked at her. "Oh, you know what?" he said, apparently to himself, "forget it. You're not going to have a problem."

"Thanks," she said, smiling to herself smugly. "Cup of tea, then?"

-------------------------------------------------

He opened the door cautiously, looking out. She squeezed up next to him, lifting her torch and pointing the beam out into the pitch.

He reached out quickly and knocked it down. She bit her lip, withholding judgement as the beam shut off.

She looked out, realising the light from the TARDIS behind them would illuminate the place just as well. She stared, letting her eyes acclimatise and trying to see what was out there.

"Right. Follow me," he breathed, his voice a near-whisper. She felt him push past her and simply followed. She hesitated to close the TARDIS door and lock it firmly. She slipped the key back into her pocket and looked around.

"Doctor?" she whispered hoarsely, trying to remain relatively quiet.

Something brushed her arm and then trailed it down, and she felt the familiar feel of oddly cool fingers sliding through hers and holding on firmly. She let him pull her on, into the complete inky blackness.

She felt grass under her feet – possibly icy cold and brittle, by the slight crunchy sound. She felt a very chilly breeze across her face and her nose suddenly felt sore, breathing in icy air.

"It's cold," she whispered, holding onto his hand a little more tightly. The Time Lord didn't answer, just pulled her on.

They stumbled along in the cold dark, apparently randomly, until the Doctor pulled on her hand to bring her to a stop. She felt a biting wind now across her face and found herself edging slightly behind his right shoulder, knowing it was cutting the wind down quite a bit.

She heard the familiar sound of his screwdriver and suddenly light flooded around her feet. She looked down to see a rectangle sliding upwards, and belatedly realised it was some kind of sliding door, opening up.

He pulled her after him, ducking in as it raised still. He let go of her hand and she heard the screwdriver again, even as she took a moment to look around.

"Where are we?" she whispered, as the door began to move down again. It slammed home with a dull metallic thud. She looked around.

They were stood in a spotless white corridor, dull lighting making it appear slightly dingy.

"This, Martha Jones," he said quietly, turning to look at her, "is Nosskin Prime. Dir City Detention Centre," he added gingerly.

She watched him walk past her down the corridor and simply followed.

"So… you two got arrested? What for?" she asked.

"We were just looking at stuff," he said indignantly. "Not my fault if the exhibit was closed."

"Exhibit?"

"I was showing a friend around, that's all," he added cheerfully. "Museum assistants took it upon themselves to eject us. We got separated, I escaped."

"By licking aspirin coating?"

"I didn't know the keypad was covered in that stuff," he said defensively. "How else was I supposed to know which keys had been used recently?"

"Alright, I'm sorry," she said, prepared to let it go. The corridor began to widen and he pushed his hands in his pockets, finding something and pulling it out.

The corridor bent suddenly to the left and Martha followed him, then stopped abruptly.

The huge room before her was heaving with beings of all shapes and sizes. She even recognised a few human heads in the mix bustling around the hangar-sized reception area. It too was spotlessly white and obviously well-manned, and she started to take the beings wearing black jumpsuits as some form of prison guards.

"Is this a prison?" she dared.

"Yes. Stick close to me. I'm not losing anyone else," he said, gripping her hand and pulling her on past the desk with him. He pushed his way past, determined not to let the reception droid notice them as it dealt with several tall, unpleasantly-featured aliens.

She followed him as he made for the set of lifts on the opposite side of the room. He let himself smile, pressing the lift button.

"What are you happy about?" she asked suspiciously.

"Over there," he said, nodding to the side of the hangar. She spotted newspapers and assorted flowers and snacks.

"What?"

"They've got a _shop_! Not a big one, just a shop, just so people can… shop. You know I like a little shop," he grinned. She chuckled and shook her head slowly.

"You haven't changed, have you?"

"Not yet," he allowed.

The lift pinged and the doors opened immediately. She stepped in, watching him look up and around the ceiling area before stepping in too.

"What?" she asked cautiously.

"Cameras," he said succinctly, and she heard the buzz of the screwdriver, noticing a slight blue glow through the stiff weave of his overcoat. There was a slight pop and fizz, and she looked up at sparks jumped out of the camera in the top left corner of the lift.

"What the –"

"I've been here before, after all," he said darkly.

"Yeah, so tell me again where we're going?"

"We're going to…" He pulled out the silver box and peered at it thoughtfully. "The third floor," he said, "Probably somewhere round… cell 358b," he said cheerfully. "And then we're snatching back my TARDIS tinkerer and making a mad dash for it."

"Oh, she fixes TARDISes, does she?" she said airily. "No wonder you don't want to leave her behind here."

"Wait and see," he said, grinning at her impatience. "Honestly, all you do is judge, judge, judge," he tutted to himself, still smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**

.

The lift doors opened with a polite ping and she waited for him to walk out first. She stepped out slowly, watching a totally different kind of prison guard. These were tall, round aliens, hovering around the decking like kids' building cylinders on an air-hockey table.

"Amazing," she breathed to herself.

The Doctor was already half-way down the gangway, heading off toward the cells down the left side of the huge hall. "Well come on then!" he called over his shoulder, and she hurried to catch up. "Right, you have to understand that they sometimes keep some of their inmates sedated," he said quickly. "Don't be surprised if –"

"Doctor, it's fine," she said quickly, eyeing a tall, thin cylinder following them. The normality and completely innocuous feel to the shape made her skin creep instantly. "Let's just get her out and run like hell."

They hurried down the gangway, their feet thumping on the metal grating and echoing round the passageway. Suddenly the Doctor stopped, and Martha, her attention diverted by the blinking lights above each cell and doorframe, bumped full into the side of him.

"Get ready to catch," the Time Lord said simply.

She heard pressurised air releasing. She looked around quickly, realising they were standing outside a door that looked disturbingly like a walk-in fridge at any kitchen in a fast-food restaurant back on Earth.

The Doctor was pulling on the door. The handle gave and the door began to arc outwards toward them slowly. He swung on it and stepped to one side. Martha was pushed round too, her hands reaching into the clouds of steam to grab someone coughing and spluttering.

They were slightly heavier than she had anticipated. She staggered as the coughing, flailing human grabbed at her for support.

"I thought you wirnae coming!" a voice cried, indignant, and she waved steam and jets of hot air away from her face, pushing the person to stand up straight. "Do you huv any idea how long I've been in there?"

"Yeah, sorry mate," the Doctor said quickly, grasping an arm and pulling it free.

Martha pulled on the other arm, and was surprised to come face to face with the Doctor's new travelling companion.

"Oh! Hello there," a cheeky, friendly face said, and she smiled. "And who might you be?"

"Martha Jones," she said, looking up into the pale face and green eyes. "You?"

"Fergus Campbell, at yir service, Miss Jones," the young man said eagerly, his hand on her forearm squeezing slightly.

"Mister Campbell," the Doctor said on a warning, but Martha grinned, she couldn't help it. "Time we were off."

"Aye, yir not wrong there," Fergus breathed, letting go of Martha and turning to look up slightly at the Doctor. "Well you look like shite!" he said unexpectedly. "You huvnae learnt not to lick foreign-looking crap, then?"

"We can discuss this in the TARDIS," he said archly, as Martha burst into laughter.

Fergus looked at her, surprised. "Honestly, Miss Jones, there's no telling the wee bastard," he said cheekily, shaking his head. "Has he tellt you 'bout Gerimin Five?" he barrelled on.

"Mister Campbell!" the Gallifreyan interrupted. "This will _still_ be hilarious while we're watching the Time Rotor whiz away like a yoyo on Red Bull, I assure you. Now come on," he snapped.

"Can we no just go back the way you came in?" Fergus smiled back, undaunted.

"Those lifts only go up," the Doctor said. "We need the others."

Fergus favoured Martha with a large, friendly wink, and then she felt herself being pushed. She realised it was Fergus nudging her along politely, a light hand in her back. She looked at the Doctor but he was already pulling away in front, apparently oblivious to whether they accompanied him or not.

"So, Fergus, is it?" she asked, turning to look at the new man.

He hurried to walk next to her. "Aye, Fergus sings the blues," he said proudly, and then she heard in stereo from the young Scot and the Time Lord in front of her, "in bars of twelve or less!"

"Oh my god," she grinned. "So what are you then, new drinking partner-come-Mr Fix-It?"

"Aye, that's right," he said. "You'd be surprised how many Tennant's Extras yir man there can put away."

Martha just look forwards again at the back of the Time Lord's head, then back at Fergus. "You're right, I'd be gob-smacked," she said dryly. She looked up at the Doctor's back. "I didn't think you drank, mister."

The Doctor turned to walk backwards, and Martha noticed his normally paler face looking slightly red.

"On occasion," he allowed, apparently annoyed at their lack of progress in reaching the lifts again. He avoided her gaze suddenly and turned back round, steaming off.

"Oh, I like that! Occasion, he says!" Fergus crowed, laughing. "Try every Friday night a new bloody pub quiz! In a new system!"

"No!" she breathed, chuckling.

"Pardon me for interrupting, but we are supposed to be looking for lifts!" the Doctor cried over the top of them, his eyes sweeping the hall like it owed him a new screwdriver.

"Aye-aye, Skipper," Fergus said quickly, turning much more serious.

Martha watched him as they came to a stop in the large, hangar-like holding bay.

He was anywhere between twenty and twenty-five, she thought, quite tall, average build. His light brown, almost blonde hair was quite short, and he didn't appear to have had the opportunity to have shaved in the past few days. He scratched his chin as he turned in a circle, oblivious to Martha taking in his navy blue Franz Ferdinand t-shirt under a faded green short-sleeved shirt, currently open and not really matching his deliberately-scruffy Diesel jeans.

She was unsurprised as to his footwear, except these were tartan Converse, laces sprawling as if undone, the white fronts of them scuffed and battered. She looked up at the Doctor, finding him running a hand through his hair and looking a little perturbed.

"I think…" he began, but Fergus put a hand out and grabbed the Time Lord's shoulder.

"Left," he said quickly, and the Doctor swung his head round. Martha thought she noticed a slight wobble in his lanky frame, but dismissed it as a doctor's inability to be off-duty.

"Go," the Doctor said quickly, and Fergus looked at Martha, inclining his head cheekily in the right direction. The three of them aimed for the lifts quickly.

A loud jangling sounded for a second or so but they didn't pause to look up as they listened.

"Prisoner escape from level three. All security personnel to level three," a female voice boomed.

"Aw shite," Fergus heaved, and the three of them sped up as the cylindrical guards began to turn in their direction from the other side of the hall. The Doctor put his hands on their shoulders from behind, stopping them.

"Mister Campbell," he said abruptly, and Fergus looked round. "You two get back to the exit door. I'll catch you up," he said, shoving something at him.

Fergus grabbed it and nodded. "You can count on me, Skipper," he winked, and the Doctor patted his shoulder quickly. "Just make sure ye get to that exit door soon – and fir Christ's sake, don't lick anything!"

"I'll try not to," the Doctor said dryly, and Martha grinned. "And you," he said to her directly, "make sure he doesn't get into trouble."

"I'll do my best. Let's go," she said, pulling on Fergus' hand.

The Doctor winked at her and turned away quickly, and suddenly was running back toward the guards. She looked up at Fergus, and they turned and pelted their way to the lift.

They slammed at the buttons, keeping their faces away from the cameras. The lift doors opened and they fairly leapt inside, Fergus lifting his hand and producing the screwdriver. He pointed it at the camera inside and it jerked and sparked. He slapped the button and the lift shot off downwards.

Martha let go of his hand politely. "So… Been with the Doctor long?" she asked gamely.

"About a year. I was at Uni, working for the IT department. Ah was there one night, just working on a new intranet for the science building, when he walks in, tells me he needs to use some computers, and just helps himself," he smiled.

"And you let him?"

"I did _not!_" he snorted indignantly. "I'd spent three years o' my life putting them computers together; you think I was going ti let him cannibalise 'em?" he grinned.

The lift stopped and he waited for the doors to open. They stepped out, back into the large hangar full of receptionists, assorted beings and now, security guards.

He took her hand and pulled her through the crowd quickly, both of them keeping their heads down.


	6. Chapter 6

**SIX**

They slipped along the side of the wall, finding the mouth of the white, spotless corridor. They walked round calmly enough, then took off as fast as they could.

They ran until Fergus stopped them, and then they just looked at each other expectantly. They waited impatiently for a few minutes, then then Fergus looked back down the corridor.

"What do yi think he's doing noe?" he asked gingerly.

"Making trouble," she sighed, folding her arms.

"Scuse me fae asking, hen, but would you be the girl who met Shakespeare?" he asked suddenly.

"Yeah, that was me," she said, surprised.

"Oh, Ah see," he said reasonably, and she blinked.

"Why, what's he told you?" she asked hotly.

"Oh, nothing, nothing, don't you worry," he said quickly, lifting his hands in apology. "Ah'm just… trying to put things tigether here."

"Like what?" she asked.

"Well we got stuck here cos he wanted to look in the museum. He said a few times that… well, he said if Martha had been thir, we wouldnae huv been caught. So… You wir always the one stopping him getting in trouble?"

"I suppose. Sometimes," she allowed. He looked at her now, beyond curious.

"So, Ah huv tae ask, I'm sorry, pet. But… Why did yi go home? How come yi didnae want to stae?"

She sighed, leaning back against the white wall and looking up at the ceiling.

"I have family, Fergus. And… we'd been through a lot. I just… I just couldn't have left them there." She looked at him now. "Where's your family? Don't they worry about you?"

"Naw, Ah don't huv anyone," he said slowly. "All gone. Car accident when Ah was an ankle-biter, hen. It's been just me fir… a long time."

"Oh. Sorry," she said quietly. "But what about your girlfriend? She must be annoyed you're never home?"

"Well if Ah had one, I s'pose she'd be pretty pissed off, yeah," he allowed with a smile. "Except, well, you and Ah know it doesnae matter, cos he can just put you back the same time yi left, ken?"

"Oh yeah," she grinned. "So… You enjoying life in the TARDIS?"

"Pretty much. Ah think Ah've had a good influence on him," he winked, and she chuckled.

"Does he still leave dirty teaspoons in the sink?"

"Every day. Did he used to leave his shoes all over the floor?"

"Oh, did he!" he giggled. Fergus nodded slowly, his smile fading.

"I worry about him, sometimes."

"Yeah," she said quietly. "But that's all he needs, someone to worry about him – _some_times."

"Yeah."

They heard a slapping, banging noise and popped their heads around the corner in the corridor.

The Doctor was stampeding down it like his life depended on it. Which it probably did, as the beings following him were firing small, handheld weapons at his back.

"Open the door!" he shouted desperately. "Run for the TARDIS!"

Fergus jumped back round and screwdrivered the exit door open. He grabbed Martha's arm and they raced out into the freezing air.

All was black, and Martha suddenly wondered how they were going to even find the blue box.

"This wae!" Fergus shouted, his breath steaming. Martha held onto him but looked back.

"Doctor! We're over here!" she called.

"Well don't tell everyone!" he shouted angrily from somewhere in the dark.

Fergus simply pulled her and they flew on. She suddenly made out a dim shape, larger than her, and grinned through her panting in the biting, cold air.

She let go of Fergus to scrabble for her key. They slammed into the door, Martha jamming her key in the lock as green bolts of light and sound thunked into the wood next to her head.

"Oi!" she shouted angrily. She twisted the key and they fell into the open door. The light spilled out, illuminating the snow and grass.

The Doctor was still pounding towards them. Martha looked at Fergus.

"Can you fly this thing?"

"No! Can't you?" he asked desperately.

"Do you know how to start it up? Prep it?" she demanded.

"No!"

She stepped aside as the Time Lord came flying in through the door. He didn't stop, just barrelled on up the ramp. Martha slammed the door and her fingers slid over the lock. She snapped on the hardiest, most impenetrable defence in the known universe: the Chubb lock.

Noises and shouts echoed outside the door, but the Doctor didn't notice. Fergus ran up the ramp after him.

"If yi'd tell't me hoe, Ah could huv started her up!" he accused.

"Wait," the Doctor barked.

Fergus looked at him more closely. He stood back one slowly, gingerly. He watched the Doctor slide and push levers, one hand grasping the console painfully.

"What did yi do?" he asked, turning and tipping a hand at Martha quickly. She noticed and came up the ramp.

"Caused a temporary fault in the shields," the Doctor barked, but Martha heard his breathlessness. "We can leave and not get bounced back to this destination!"

She approached the main grating as he slapped a large lever down. The Time Rotor jumped up and began to move. The Doctor was grasping the console in both hands now, his face white, sweat running down the underside of his chin.

"Doctor?" Martha blurted, running over and grabbing his arm. She prized him off the console, looking at Fergus. "Help me!" she demanded.

The bewildered Scot grabbed the Doctor's other arm, helping Martha lower him to the grating slowly.

"Doctor?" she said, bending over him and opening an eye, looking in. She leaned back and slapped at his pallid face. He gasped instantly and opened his eyes. She grabbed onto his face to keep her in his line of sight, noticing the sweat despite his cold skin.

"'S just – just the – coating," he managed, and Martha tutted.

"I _told_ you not to go off like you were," she said darkly.

"What's wrong wi' him?" Fergus demanded, alarmed.

"A little allergic reaction, not too bad," she said firmly. She looked up at him. "Get the kettle on. Do you still have the large urn under the sink in the kitchen?"

"Galley," the Doctor interrupted.

"Whatever!" she cried, annoyed.

"Aye, yir wanting me to fill it?"

"Yes. Strongest tea you have," she said, putting her hands under the Doctor's shoulders and lifting him to sit. He clutched at her arm tightly. "He's still got a trace amount of that toxin and running around using all lungs and hearts to capacity has not helped."

"Right," Fergus said, helping her to get him to his feet. "So yi'd be the doctor friend he talked about?"

"Does he talk about me?" she asked, yanking one of the Time Lord's arms over her shoulder. Fergus did the same, and they began to walk him toward the doorway to the corridor.

"Aye, hen. Says he's had a fair few friends, but I get the feeling yir one o' his favourites," he said kindly.

"I'm surprised he doesn't bang on about Rose the whole time," she said flippantly.

"Who?" Fergus asked. Martha bit her lip.

"Blogging again," the Doctor heaved, and Martha grinned.

"Alright mister, no need to get upset. You're going to bed, and we're making the tea."

"Oh blimey," he breathed, then let his head roll blindly to his left. "Mister Campbell?"

"Aye, Skipper?"

"Make sure she warms the urn first."

"Aye-aye," he said cheekily.

**THE END**


End file.
